


Deutschland

by thomasmulli (DrifterWriter)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: College AU, Fluff, Götzeus, M/M, More ships and characters to be added with each story, Neuller - Freeform, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-08-31 17:06:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8586757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrifterWriter/pseuds/thomasmulli
Summary: Deutschland is a wonderful place. Full of wonderful people with wonderful stories. 1. Götzeus AU2. Neuller AU3. Neuller non-AU fluff





	1. Please Tell Me (What There's To Complain About)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Just a collection of small fics that I write about the German NT players. Hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's mildly aware that the other guy there is judging him so bad, but what matters? He considers turning his bag upside down, hoping that it won't damage too many of his notebooks.
> 
> "Hey," a voice says.
> 
> Marco looks up.
> 
> His brain allows him just enough leeway to register brown, dishevelled hair, brown eyes, a sunny smile and a fucking sexy voice before the fear for his paper overtakes him again-- he nods at the cute guy and goes back to tipping the contents out of his bag, his mouth twitching uncontrollably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my darling Jules!

Marco's final paper is something he's very, very proud of, thank you very much.

He's spent hours and days and weeks on it, stayed up late at night to research meiotic and mitotic cellular divisions (thoroughly annoying his roommate Auba, who can't sleep with the lights on, bless him), carefully drawing out diagrams with an actual pencil and reference. It's the best piece of work he's done in his life (even Boa approves of the quality, so it's not just in his head) and he's intensely happy with it-- it warrants an A- at the very least.

"Hella proud of it, aren't you," Auba teases, leaning against the kitchen counter and taking a sip of his coffee as he watches Marco smooth out the paper and read it yet again. "That's, what. The fifteth time you're reading the damn thing?"

Marco, though, is so excited about handing it in that he completely fails to come up with a sassy reply, instead mumbling a lame "don't exaggerate, Auba," and going back to read the next paragraph.

"Not that I'm complaining, dude," Auba grins, pushing the cup of coffee to Marco, who squawks and hurriedly pulls the paper out of line of harm. "But never knew you were so passionate about biology."

"I'm not," Marco admits. "Pass me the Nutella."

"Yeah, well, little rebel Reus is turning a good leaf," Auba quips, not even looking behind him as he scrabbles for the jar of Nutella. His eyes soften when he adds, "I'm proud of you, man."

"Oh, give over," Marco groans, secretly feeling pleased as he spreads liberal amounts of chocolate spread over his toast.

Auba holds up his head in mock surrender. "Sure, dude, sure. By the way," he leans to the side to look out of the kitchen window. "It's going to rain today, you sure you don't want to me to drop you to class?"

"Nah," Marco says, taking care to spray crumbs on his friend. "I'll manage, it probably won't start raining till much later."

"Whatever, man." Auba looks dubious, but relents nevertheless.

Later, Marco wonders what made him refuse Auba's offer.

*

It's an average day at university-- same old food fights, sleeping through classes (Marco is actually hella proud of himself for remembering what subjects he studies) and submissions and lectures. The only downside of the day is that he doesn't get to hand his Bio paper in, because of-fucking-course Ancelotti is ill the day Marco has actually done some work.

It's a given relief to most of the students ("thank _fuck_!" Thomas exclaims, earning a stern but amused look from both Manu and Jogi, who is substituting. "I haven't written a word!") and everybody is grateful to have another day to complete their work-- everybody but Marco.

He is cursed, he decides.

His bad mood doesn't dissipate throughout the day-- he ends up snapping at poor Jonas and drives Benni away to Robert by lunchbreak. He's surprised at himself-- usually he's the fun, cheerful and mischevious one-- but he really doesn't want to help it.

The rest of the day is torture. He just wants to go home, make some hot chocolate and marshmallows, fall into bed and die.

"Stop being so dramatic," Mats says when he mentions this, and wow, coming from Mats, that's a lot.

The final bell rings-- about fucking _time_ , Marco thinks-- and he heads out as fast as he can without his friends. The streets are mostly deserted, partly because of the hour and partly because of the threatening, huge rain clouds that hang ominously in the grey sky.

He's about halfway home when it starts to rain. Hard.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks.

"Fuck," he says aloud to nobody in general, because there's nobody to hear him.

He looks around wildly. There aren't even any shops on this godforsaken street, ugh-- only a tiny awning outside a cafe (which is, of course, locked), with just another figure standing underneath it.

He doesn't exactly have any other option-- he trudges to it wearily, taking his time, his wet backpack heavy on his shoulders, full of books that just be soaked by now--

Marco's eyes grow wide.

His final paper. Is in his backpack.

"FUCK!" He yells, sprinting towards the tiny awning like he's never run before, making the other figure already standing there look up in surprise. He doesn't care though, not really-- not when half the semester's grade is possibly dissolved in the bottom of his bag.

He's mildly aware that the other guy there is judging him so bad, but what matters? He considers turning his bag upside down, hoping that it won't damage too many of his notebooks.

"Hey," a voice says.

Marco looks up.

His brain allows him just enough leeway to register brown, dishevelled hair, brown eyes, a sunny smile and a fucking sexy voice before the fear for his paper overtakes him again-- he nods at the cute guy and goes back to tipping the contents out of his bag, his mouth twitching uncontrollably.

"Hey," the guy says again, and continues when Marco doesn't look up. "You're going to tear everything apart in your bag that way, don't do that."

Perhaps Marco wouldn't have been so rude to such a cute guy in a normal situation, but desperate times called for desperate measures. "My final paper is in this bag!"

"And you're going to tear it if you shake your bag like that," the guy continues calmly. "Do you want me to help?"

Marco squints at the guy suspiciously. He really is cute, he thinks, fit and a little shorter than him, with chubby cheeks which are red from the cold. Sunny, his brain supplies helpfully.

"Okay," he allows finally, handing the bag to the guy. "Please be careful."

"Don't worry."

Marco watches carefully, nervously biting his nails as Sunny delicately takes out every notebook and piece of paper delicately from Marco's bag, laying it out carefully on the coffee table.

The rain starts to heat down even harder, but they're safe under the tiny awning, completely dry and at least they're together, Marco thinks.

When Sunny pulls out his final paper, Marco nearly cries.

Because the thing is completely unharmed, completely untouched, as good as new, not even soggy around the edges. Marco nearly screams with relief.

"Oh my god," he babbles nonsensically, taking the paper from the grinning guy the way a father accepts his newborn for the first time. "Oh my fucking god, oh my god. Thank you, thank--"

"No worries," Sunny says, and for the first time, Marco notices that when he smiles, there's this adorable little front gap showing between his teeth.

Marco is pretty sure he's going to end up kissing him, whether from sheer relief or actual attraction, so he tactfully averts his eyes, looking around.

"Guess we're stuck here for a while, huh?" He asks.

Sunny looks at him sideways. "I suppose so."

They stare at the rain in silence as Marco's heartbeat slows down. It's a nice silence.

Then suddenly Marco's phone rings, making them both jump. He glances at the guy apologetically, who waves it off.

"Hello?"

" _Marco?_ " Auba's voice floats over the other end. " _You okay? Are you somewhere dry?"_

"Yeah, I'm good," Marco says honestly. "I'm outside this café, with, uh--"

He looks at the guy meaningfully, who smiles and supplies a "Mario."

"--Mario," he tells Auba, patting himself on the shoulder mentally. Nice one, Reus. Smooth.

" _Who's Mario?_ " Auba asks, and Marco can literally hear his grin on the other end, the fucker.

"He saved my final paper," Marco says, grinning at Mario shamelessly.

" _Your hero, huh?_ " Auba teases. " _You love that paper more than you love me."_

"My hero," Marco agrees, and Mario laughs beside him.

" _Alright, I'm in class so I can't pick you up,_ " Auba says. " _You stay put till the rain stops, okay?"_

"Yes, mother," Marco says, and both Mario and Auba laugh. It's a nice feeling, both of them laughing.

" _Though you possibly won't mind._ " Auba says sagely.

Marco doesn't deny it. He looks at Mario, who looks back, a twinkle in his eye, his front gap showing again.

"No," Marco says. "I don't mind."

He hangs up and stares Mario a little nervously, his heart starting to beat overtime.

"I'm Marco," he says finally.

"Marco," repeats Mario, tasting the name, and Marco likes the way it rolls off his tongue.

The stare at each other in silence. It's way too perfect, way too romantic, something that Marco never thought would happen to him-- two strangers standing with each other, safe from the pouring rain, away from the world, staring into each other's souls.

(Marco has definitely become more dramatic than Mats.)

(Or maybe he's just falling in love.)

"Penny for your thoughts?" Mario says.

"I--" Marco starts, unsure, and suddenly blurts out. "I wanna kiss you."

Mario fucking _shrugs_. "I want o kiss you too."

Marco's not sure who starts to lean in first-- he'll never be sure, because when he asks Mario about it years later, Mario won't know either-- but suddenly their noses are almost brushing and Mario's eyes have Marco completely hooked, completely smitten, and their lips haven't even touched, but Marco already feels like he's on top of the world--

\-- and then Mario's lips are on his, and Marco's senses _explode_.

It's a slow kiss, gentle but sure, tentative but daring, no teeth and hardly any tongue, only a battle of emotions and attraction and feelings that Marco didn't even know were possible to feel. Mario brings his hands up to Marco's face, gripping it gently as he pulls on Marco's bottom lip between his teeth, and it's perfect, so fucking _perfect_ , both cold but warm in each other, Marco's final paper clutched in his hand as his arms hold Mario's waist.

They surface only for air. Marco is more breathless than he's been in his entire life, and Mario's cheeks are even redder than before.

"My god," Marco says, still rely from the sheer splendidness of the kiss. "You're an _amazing_ kisser."

Mario grins and pretends to contemplate Marco. "You're not too bad."

"Ah, fucker," Marco says, smiling.

Mario laughs, the sound clear in the relative silence. "I'm kidding. You're," he smiles at Marco. "That was really nice. You're a great kisser, too."

"I pride myself on my kissing skills," Marco says, preening a little, and he wants to hear Mario's laugh for the rest of his life.

"Modest, much?"

"Me? Never!"

They stand in silence for a while, hand in hand. Their ecstatic grins fade into contented smiles, the high from the kiss dissolving into sated, subtle happiness and satisfaction.

"So what now?" Mario says.

"Now," Marco replies. "We exchange numbers and I take you out to dinner on Saturday."

"Very smooth, smartass," Mario teases, taking Marco's phone and tapping in his number before handing it back. "I meant, what do we do right now?"

"Well," Marco pretends to contemplate his options, though Marco's expression says humour me. "We could make out till the rain stops?"

"Sounds good," Mario grins.

Marco moves in, but stops just before their lips touch.

"What?" Mario says.

"Do you think they'll deliever pizza here?"

 

 

 


	2. Take A Little Breath (Before You Catch An Early Death)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's got a fucking life, thank you very fucking much, but apparently cleaning up after Marco on one day and Robert on the next equaled his promotion to the official long-suffering-big-brother of the group, which isn't exactly the job Manuel was looking for, as much as he loves his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for Nina!   
> @CrankyNewtmas. Hope you feel better, my love!
> 
> Y'all might have read this already when I posted it on tumblr but I figured 'what the hell'

 

Manuel's patience is tested more often than not.

He's nineteen years old, he's a college student with too many subjects to handle for his own good, and has a bunch of friends who think it's alright to act five instead of eighteen and get into food fights in the cafeteria, and rely on Manuel to baby them around, especially when Philipp isn't there. He's got a fucking life, thank you very fucking much, but apparently cleaning up after Marco on one day and Robert on the next equaled his promotion to the official long-suffering-big-brother of the group, which isn't exactly the job Manuel was looking for, as much as he loves his friends.

Yes, Manuel's patience is tested more often than is safe for any of them.

Therefore, it's understandable that he has a few habits which help him preserve his mental health, one of which is visiting the coffee shop on the way from the dorms to class in the morning.

Coffee gives him the energy to keep going throughout the day and keep up with his tireless friends (is he getting old?) as well, and the coffee shop has become a safe haven for him over the last year, letting him study without Benni's snores ringing in his years and Robert's too-loud music playing obnoxiously through his headphones.

The coffee shop is exactly the kind of place where people talk in quiet whispers over breakfast, not wanting to disturb others. It's something Manuel appreciates, being able to sit in a warm corner with a cappuccino and maybe an occasional pancake for breakfast, eyes fixed on his textbook, sometimes writing out a scribble in his notebook or making an annotation. He gets at least an hour of studying in before he sets off towards the main building, which is more than he can hope for.

One of the baristas who has the shift in the morning is a nice young man called Bastian, with brilliant blue eyes and an easy smile, just a few years older than Manuel himself. He's in his last year of college and already has been offered a top job at the Munich Times. He's only waiting for semester to end so he can join work, and the only reason he's still working at the coffee shop is because he likes to.

Manuel is thankful, because Basti makes coffee that tastes likes heaven on earth.

~

When he goes to the coffee shop after a weary weekend, desperate to get away from his friends, however, there's somebody else with Bastian behind the counter.

Manu eyes the new kid subtly, and the guy stares back, equally curious but unabashedly so. Bastian looks between them, amused.

"Manu, this is Thomas," he says, grinning faintly as he waves towards the kid- Thomas- to indicate his presence. Thomas stares back at him, a half-smile on his lips, blue eyes dancing. "He's going to take over the morning shift when I'm gone."

"Please to mee-" Manuel tries to say amicably, but Thomas beats him to it.

"Hi, I'm Thomas," he says enthusiastically, and Manuel tries to refrain from saying I know when Thomas grabs his hand over the counter and shakes it with surprising strength for such a scrawny kid. "I'm in my second year in college, and I study astrophysics and I like horses."

It's by far the strangest introduction that Manuel has ever heard, especially with the I like horses part, but he takes it into his stride the best he can, given how tired his brain is and how worried he is about the work he has to do. Manuel doesn't introduce himself further-- Thomas seems like a nice kid, but he's got way too much energy, something that Thiago and Marco and David already have enough, please. Manuel doesn't need more hyperactive toddlers in his life.

He looks down and realises that Thomas is still holding his hand.

"Uh," Manuel says politely.

"Oh, sorry," Thomas says, letting go, flashing him a wide smile. "So what can I get you? Coffee? A sandwich maybe? A pancake? I make really great pancakes, by the way, at least that's what Lisa and Mario told me-- and they don't--"

"Do you have something with Nutella in it?"

Thomas falters for a second, but only a second. "I could-- make you a Nutella pancake?"

Bastian sniggers.

"It's not really on our menu, but--" Thomas shrugs. "Just for you, if you'd like."

Manuel would like.

Manuel would like it very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments please I love you


	3. Sorry I Don't Take The Time (To Feel The Way I Do)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooth rotting Neuller fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is terrible I wrote it for meggie in 10 mins

Manu likes to be held. 

Not necessarily in a little spoon kind of way, but he likes having someone's arms around him, cuddling him and holding him close. 

He especially likes it because it's one of the only times Thomas is really quiet. Not that he doesn't like Thomas bright and cheerful and annoyingly loud- in fact, it's one of the things that endears Thomas to him- his infectious smile, his bright eyes, enthusiasm and intelligence in every movement. 

But it's nice for a change, really. 

This is no exception. They're both on the couch facing each other, exhausted after a day of rigorous training, nearly half asleep. The TV is on in front of them, but neither of them are paying attention to it. Thomas' fingers are tangled in his hair and his eyelids are drooping. Manu, on the side of the couch with the backrest, holds Thomas' waist so he doesn't fall off the couch. 

He's trying his best to stay awake because the last thing he wants is Thomas to fall off and break something (he's not really concerned about the coffee tables-- more about Thomas' limbs, they're alarmingly spindly anyway) but his eyes keep closing and his grip on his boyfriend's waist keeps loosening until he wakes up with a start and holds Thomas tighter. 

It's not until Thomas mumbles a muted "ouch" into his chest that he notices that's he's holding Thomas ridiculously tight. 

"Sorry," he mutters, kissing Thomas' hair lightly and loosening his grip slightly. Thomas mumbles incoherently, rubbing his nose into Manu's chest and shifting slightly to get more comfortable-- which isn't easy, considering they're both over six feet tall with their feet sticking out of the end, a ridiculous tangle of muscles and long limbs. 

"Thomas," Manu says lightly, suddenly afraid he's going to fall asleep again. "Let's go to bed."

"I don't wanna move," Thomas mumbles. 

"I don't want you to fall off," Manu says truthfully, because he knows that Thomas won't tease him for being a sap-- not at this time, not when he's half asleep. 

"You go," Thomas mutteres. "I'm staying here till Ancelotti himself drags me out of the house."

In all honesty, Manu doesn't want to move either. The feeling of Thomas' long fingers entangled in his hair, his arms around him, his face in his chest, his body pressed against his is the best feeling in the world. 

"Come on," Manu tries again, against his own will. "I'll carry you."

It takes some effort (and a lot of grumbling) but he manages to get a six foot one dead weight up the stairs and into the bed. Feeling slightly more awake, he gets a drowsy Thomas changed somehow and changes into his pyjamas too, finally settling down beside his boyfriend and pulling the covers around them. 

Thomas entangled his legs with Manu's and loops his arms around him, holding him tight. Manu sighs contentedly. 

He's nearly fast asleep when Thomas turns his face slightly upwards and kisses him, gently but firmly. 

"I love you," Thomas tells him, surprisingly coherent. 

"I love you too," Manu says, smiling like a fool as Thomas buries his nose in the crook of his neck once again, his hot breath fanning Manu's skin.

And really, there's no other place he'd rather be.

**Author's Note:**

> As always I drool over comments


End file.
